The Voice of Deceit
by The Converted
Summary: Arwen receives visions that she believes foretell Aragorn’s death. But as she begins to unravel the mystery, things aren’t what they seem. Who is sending these visions, but more importantly, can they be trusted?
1. The Stage is Set

Title: The Voice of Deceit (Chapter 1/?)

Author: The Converted

Rating: R

Genre: Suspense/Tragedy

Summary: Arwen receives visions that she believes foretell Aragorn's death. But as she begins to unravel the mystery, things aren't what they seem. Who is sending these visions, but more importantly, can they be trusted?

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.

A/N: I've always thought that Fate had a sense of humour, which is why my muse prodded me to write this.

_"Rowe's Rule: the odds are five to six that the light at the end of the tunnel is the headlight of an oncoming train."_

This story is dedicated to InuYasha's Saucy Wench for not killing me, and helping with a title. Your understanding is well deserved, as is your silence. HUZZAH for randomness!

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**The Voice of Deceit**  
Chapter One: The Stage is Set

A pair of gnarled hands stretched themselves instinctively towards the warmth of the fire, fingers flexing above the heat. The old flesh began to warm as the outside air grew cooler, whipping the flames violently toward the stooped figure.

He didn't move, eyes transfixed on the man pacing in front of him.

"Skittering about like a caged rabbit won't do me any good you know," he bellowed.

"Neither will delaying the inevitable," the younger man countered, giving his master a withering look.

"Well if you had even a shred of my experience Tunnas,you'd know that these things take time." The anxiousness in his voice betrayed him as he eyed his apprentice warily.

"And if I had any shred of your experience, I'd be as damned near death as you."

Ithron's deep laugh filled the clearing, giving way to a rasping cough that shook his emaciated frame. He smiled weakly at Tunnas, inwardly cursing his failing health. How could he be the stern, commanding figure the boy needed, when his body betrayed him every chance it got?

Squaring his shoulders, he closed his eyes, ready to prove that he was still nothing to laugh at.

A familiar warmth covered his body as he stretched his mind outwards. Focusing on his current appearance, Ithron's features began to alter subtlety. The nose shrank, the chin broadened, the skin became taught. He heard Tunnas gasp as he stood, no longer the frail man from only moments before.

Steel grey hair was now black, frail limbs thick and muscular, pale complexion replaced with firm, tanned skin.

Ithron smiled at the look on Tunnas' face. "Parlor tricks my son, simple parlor tricks." He offered the youth his outstretched hand. "Come, there are more important matters at hand."

"About time," he smirked. Begrudgingly accepting the kind offer, Tunnas grasped Ithron's hand, surprised at the strength emanating from his mentor as he was helped to his feet.

They strode closer to the trees, shadows of firelight playing on their backs.

Armed with strength and confidence, Ithron was ready to begin. He placed both hands on the tree in front of him, relishing the fact that he could distinguish the feel of his skin from the rough bark he was touching. Letting his chin drop to his chest, he reached out once again with his mind.

Cursed once again with sleeplessness, Arwen was easy enough to detect… but she was not alone. Quickly scanning her companion's mind, Ithron learned that the blond Elf seated to her left was Glorfindel of Gondolin, the famed Balrog slayer.

He had not planned on having any witnesses, but time was of the essence, and he needed to contact the Evenstar now.

Detecting only concern from Glorfindel, Ithron turned his attentions toward Arwen. There was only one thing on her thoughts: Aragorn.

Ah yes, Aragorn, the whole reason Tunnas and Ithron were out in the cold instead of sleeping peacefully like the rest of Middle-earth. That blasted Aragorn, the descendant of Isildur, the man who held the fate of all Middle-earth on his shoulders.

The pair continued talking, unaware of the fact that their minds had been probed during the conversation.

Arwen lay on her back as a comfortable silence settled over them. "It is time," Ithron whispered. He projected the images into her mind, fast and unrelenting.

* * *

_Swords clanged together loudly as Aragorn's face came into view, drenched and red from his exertions._

_He bit his lip in concentration, blocking a blow aimed at his neck. Deftly twisting the sword hilt upward, he deflected another, his feet dancing around the shadowy foe before him._

_Absorbing a kick to the chest, Aragorn screamed in frustration. He got up once again, eliciting another series of parries as he lunged toward his opponent._

_Turning suddenly, he thrust his sword toward the figure appearing from the woods; a dark, shadowy face._

_His face twisted in pain as he dropped to his knees, staring at the dark blood covering his hands._

_A black crow landed on the branch above him, watching everything below. It's cawing echoed throughout the clearing like laughter._

* * *

Ithron ended the visions, withdrawing his mind back into his own body. He slumped forward soundlessly, Tunnas supporting his frame as he was led to the ground. Taxed from his exertions, Ithron turned onto his back, gaunt face now visible in the moonlight. "It is done," he rasped. "Arwen has seen what I have seen."

Ignoring the whimpers elicited from the old man, Tunnas cradled his master against him. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing. Everything is up to her."

The implication of _her _sunk in as Tunnas turned from Ithron. She was their only hope.

* * *

Arwen trembled against Glorfindel's strong frame as he whispered to her softly in Elvish, trying to mask the fear in his own voice. "Arwen, what is wrong? Please tell me what is wrong."

She shook violently, looking up at him with her tear-stained face. "Dead… He's dead."

"Who is dead? Arwen-" Glorfindel's voice caught in his throat as she grabbed his cloak with her hands, burrowing herself further into his embrace as she broke down into another series of heart-wrenching sobs.

The vision repeated over and over again inside her head, screaming the finality of what she had seen.

_A black crow surveyed the scene playing out below, it's mocking laughter filling every inch of the clearing as everything was engulfed in darkness._

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Very short I know, but I HAD to set up the rest of the story, now didn't I? Reviews are always appreciated, as is any form of clothes, jewelry, or currency.


	2. Silent Warnings

Title: The Voice of Deceit (Chapter 2/?)

Author: The Converted

Rating: R

Genre: Suspense/Tragedy

Summary: Arwen receives visions that she believes foretell Aragorn's death. But as she begins to unravel the mystery, things aren't what they seem. Who is sending these visions, but more importantly, can they be trusted?

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.

A/N: There's going to be a bit of a lull before all the details are laid out before you, but that's why it's labeled as suspense. No worries though, all will be explained in good time.

I'd also like you to keep in mind that most updates will generally take place on Sundays. Things just got a little away from me this week with school only days away. And since I'm done with excuses, I'll shut up.

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**The Voice of Deceit**  
Chapter Two: Silent Warnings

The Lord of Imladris frowned at the empty seat generally occupied by his daughter as he bade the assembled company to be seated.

Breakfast was generally a reserved affair, but Glorfindel was nary seen without a smile on his face and a few early morning anecdotes to prod everyone out of their reverie. Today however, Elrond couldn't help but notice the pensive look on his face, and the frown creasing his brow in concentration. It was apparent that something had occurred since Elrond had last bid his advisor goodnight, and he couldn't help but wonder if this sudden change in demeanor had anything to do with his daughter's absence.

There was no evident change in Erestor, nor the others, several of which Elrond couldn't even recall the names of. The current influx of guests in Imladris had made it hard to keep up with the who's, what's, and where's that he usually knew off the top of his head, a talent which he had always been quite proud of.

The seats usually held by his sons were being used by two emissaries from Mirkwood, the former having went out on missions of their own, missions which Elrond had begun to become less and less privy to.

Several members of the kitchen staff hovered around the edges of the room, waiting to refill chalices, remove finished plates of food, and generally provide everyone with a sense of comfort in knowing that they would be well taken care of while in Imladris.

Elrond smiled to himself, knowing that beside Glorfindel and Arwen's strange behaviour, everything was as it should be.

A rustle of skirts from behind his chair drew his attention, and he stood with the others as Arwen walked toward her seat. Elrond held her hand as she sat down, squeezing it gently to elicit at least a show of warmth. Nothing.

She lowered her eyes, pretending to be absorbed in the intricacies of the tablecloth as a plate of food was set before her. Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on her thigh and a silent understanding passed between them; one that did not go unnoticed by Elrond.

Erestor cleared his throat loudly, unaccustomed to being the first to start a conversation. "I hear that several of the Dúnedain shall be here before the day's end," he said as Arwen looked up at him plaintively. "But surely you've known that for quite some time Undómiel."

"Yes Arwen," Elrond continued, "I'm sure you are looking forward to seeing Aragorn again." He expected her to take on a sanguine complexion, but she only appeared to grow paler under his gaze.

Arwen remained silent, pushing the food around on her plate with the long prongs of her fork. "If he is coming back at all," she mumbled to herself.

Looking at her with veiled eyes, Glorfindel sighed and turned his attentions toward Erestor. "Perhaps they can assist in border patrol, if only for a short time." Arwen smiled weakly at him, knowing that he had suggested this more for her benefit than his own.

"It's funny you should mention strengthening borders this morning old friend."

Glorfindel shot him a curious look. "Why would you say that?"

"Well I was waiting until later to inform you and Lord Elrond, but- "

"But what? Don't keep us in suspense." Glorfindel fidgeted in his seat, the only hint of nervousness at the tone of voice in which Erestor was imparting this seemingly crucial piece of news.

Erestor paused, eyeing the former Gondolin Chief curiously. It was not everyday that his friend wore his emotions so close to the surface.

"When the guards were changing this morn, they… they came across something." Everyone instinctively leaned forward in their seats, food long since forgotten in front of them. Aware of the eyes staring at him in rapt attention, Erestor continued, "One of the new recruits found the remnants of a fire last night, well within our borders."

Arwen tensed at his words, momentarily forgetting that she did not yet know of Aragorn's fate. "Do you know anything else?" she managed to ask.

"We were able to determine that there were two different sets of footprints, but both appear to lead away from here. In any case, we've searched the area and have come up with nothing." Arwen appeared visibly shaken by his words. "No need to fret _pen neth_, you are quite safe here." Erestor smiled reassuringly at her, looking toward Glorfindel for affirmation.

"Yes, perfectly safe. And _when _Aragorn and his men come later tonight, you shall have even less to worry about," he said, making sure to stress the word "when" for her convenience. "Now come everyone, let's have a less dreary topic of conversation, shall we?"

He was about to enliven everyone's spirits with a story from his days in Gondolin, when a flurry of movement caught his attention.

A black crow was perched in the rafters of the dining room, preening it's inky black feathers. The Elves craned their necks upwards, wondering at how the creature had arrived at its current location without being seen.

It stopped its ministrations and looked down at them, the entire room reflected back at them within its opal eyes.

"A witch's familiar perhaps," one of Thranduil's men mused, more to himself than the others.

Arwen's hands flew to her mouth as the image of a crow pecking out Aragorn's eyes came unbidden to her mind. "Or a portend of death," she gasped, quickly excusing herself.

They stared after Arwen's retreating form, too lost in the strangeness of her behaviour to notice that the crow had made an exit of its own.

* * *

Panting for breath, Arwen stumbled forward, her hands breaking the fall. She pushed herself off the ground, trying to still the incessant beating of her heart.

Her flight was an instinctive response, and at the time she had just run heedlessly from the room, with no idea where she intended on going, or for what purpose. But now, as she kneeled in the grass, she wasn't entirely sure if this was true.

Arwen looked around her, memorizing the place she couldn't help but wonder if she had been led to.

She stood shakily, reaching out toward a tree for support. As her fingers came in contact with the bark, a bright light flooded her senses and she gripped the tree harder, suppressing a shudder deep within her body.

_The man became older in a matter of seconds as he held the same tree firmly between his rapidly withering hands. He screamed in pain, comforted by the attractive youth who braced his fall._

Jerking back, the vision lost, Arwen sank to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. "What's happening to me?" she cried, rocking slowly back and forth in a pathetic attempt to imitate the rocking of a mother's arms.

The sound of cawing filled the clearing as Arwen forced her sobs to subside. Calmness settled over her once again and she stood, wiping tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm.

"Whoever, or whatever is sending these visions is looking for weakness, and I am anything but weak," Arwen told herself between gritted teeth.

Taking a few steps forward, she tried to ignore the crow racing her back home.

* * *

**Cerridwen-Evereven**: Well I would hope so. Thanks for all the reviews, you must have the A/A section completely covered. Yet I can't help but wonder, do you ever flame people?****

**Coolio02**: I'll try my best, I don't like to disappoint. Your encouragement is appreciated, thank you.

**Mata**: Trust me, it gets more interesting as everything starts to be revealed. Thanks for the review! XD

**The Last Evenstar**: You see Jenny, that's where you'd be wrong. In fact, since I last told you and Kayleigh about the overall premise, I've tweaked some things to fill in some pretty gaping holes. I've added another little bit that no one knows about but me, and as I said, altered the course of events a bit. Nothing too major though, same "happy" ending.

**ME132**: Wow, that was impressive. I almost couldn't breath trying to read that sentence in my head. And if I end up suffering any long term brain damage, well let's just say I know who's going to be paying my hospital bills. Awww, such a nice review, that deserves… A GROUP HUG! ::hug::

**Valia-Elf**: This time you're supposed to be puzzled, so no worries that you don't understand everything 100. That's really the point of this story; note the genre of SUSPENSE. And… Amazing? Please, you'll give me a swell head.

**Viviana**: Sorry, not first this time, but second is the best, right? Thanks for the encouragement, exclamation points go a long way in my own little world. I suppose you could call it a fetish.


	3. A Woman’s Counsel

Title: The Voice of Deceit (Chapter 3/?)

Author: The Converted

Rating: R

Genre: Suspense/Tragedy

Summary: Arwen receives visions that she believes foretell Aragorn's death. But as she begins to unravel the mystery, things aren't what they seem. Who is sending these visions, but more importantly, can they be trusted?

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.

A/N: Hopefully this chapter doesn't seem too forced, as I was determined to get it posted before my three day weekend was over.

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**The Voice of Deceit**  
Chapter Three: A Woman's Counsel

"Morion, I must speak with you," Arwen exalted, brusquely rushing past the old woman.

Drawing the curtains closed, she turned and opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped at the look on the human's face.

Giving her charge the usual once over, Morion whistled in disapproval. "And what have you been up to this afternoon, dearest? Rolling around in the stables again?" She gave a lilting little laugh that shook the light brown curls atop her head from side to side.

Arwen shifted nervously, her hands unconsciously clenching the light fabric of her gown. Stepping forward, Morion batted her hands away from the ruined fabric and unceremoniously began to pull it over Arwen's head.

The Lady of Rivendell lifted her arms skyward, sighing deeply at this affront to her pride. She was, after all, no longer the wayward elleth who terrorised the household as frequently as Elladan and Elrohir had, and as much as they liked to deny it, still did.

"Now take a deep breath and tell me- _calmly_,what is so important," Morion said, folding up the gown and searching for another amoung the clutter of Arwen's dressing room.

"It- it's about Aragorn."

Morion chuckled to herself, remembering the difficulties of her own courtship. "Getting cold feet already, are you?" she asked, trying to hide her sly, knowing smile.

"No, it is nothing like that." Arwen stepped into the dress being held before her, holding up her hair as Morion secured the ties near the nape of the neck. She faltered, unsure of how to begin. "Morion, do you remember the first time you were in love?"

"Aye, that I do. Of course, I was much younger then, and not so…" she gestured to her plump figure, "Well, you know."

Arwen smiled indulgently before her eyes became dark and clouded once more. "I too have loved. I loved Aragorn."

"Now what kind of talk is that? Loved? You speak as if that love is lost."

Her eyelids closed shut as she turned from Morion. "Not lost, just dead." Weak hands found Arwen's shoulders and led her to a seat in the corner of the room. "Oh Morion, the things I have seen. Terrible things."

Steeling herself as best as she could, Arwen began, careful to articulate everything clearly for the old woman's benefit, whose hearing had been deteriorating since her arrival in Imladris.

The words seemed to pour out of her as she explained every feeling, every vision, every event that had occurred since her talk with Glorfindel had begun.

She broke herself free of the woman's grasp and stood on legs that would not falter, moving across the room momentarily to move the curtain aside and peer toward the sky, before continuing to retell the events of the past evening.

As she listened, Morion was continually reminded of the kind Elf who had taken her in, pleaded with her own father on a poor wretch's behalf.

_The storm whipped her cloak wildly around her as Morion clutched the bloodied bundle closer to her chest._

_"Please Ada, all I ask is that you take her in. Give her a position, a place to stay."_

_She was by no accounts young, four and forty at least. One of the Dúnedain, or so they had begun to assume, long since stolen away from the family she knew, later torn apart from the one she loved._

_Murder. Death. Betrayal. All hung heavily in the air as Elrond considered the possibilities._

_"Do this for me Ada, just this one thing. You won't regret it."_

She smiled to herself as Arwen's rushed diatribe began to slow, the end inevitable.

Morion stood once everything had been laid out before her and took Arwen's face in her hands. "How do you know these visions are sent with malicious intent in mind?"

"What other purpose could they serve if not to tell me that Aragorn is dead?"

Surveying her carefully, Morion used the one thing that Arwen couldn't write off as inexplicable: her heart. "And you Arwen? Do you truly believe that he is dead?"

"I don't… I… No." She smiled up at Morion, the woman who had become more of a mother than a friend. "Then why? Why send them at all?"

"You will know in time my dear, you will know in time."

Arwen watched Morion turn and walk from the room, the black cloak she was so fond of wearing flowing on either side of her like great wings.

* * *

_Celebrían's silvery laughter floated throughout the room as she struggled to finish plaiting Arwen's hair. "Sit still for a few more moments my little one, you are almost free." _

_Quickly securing her daughter's hair with a strand of green ribbon, the Lady of Imladris sighed deeply and leaned back against the pillows supporting her back. She watched her daughter carefully, coveting the brief time they were able to share._

_Arwen's ten little fingers inspected every object on her mother's vanity, before moving on to rummage through the drawers as well. "Naneth, what is this?" She held the silver brooch in her hand, marveling at the way it gleamed in the sunlight._

_"My Naneth gave me that, long ago, and I gave it to your Ada after we were wed."_

_Carefully carrying the brooch between her cupped hands, Arwen climbed onto the bed and lay next to her mother, settling in the crook of her arm. "It's so beautiful."_

_"Yes my dear, it is." She brushed her daughter's cheek with the back of her hand. "And one day you too shall give it one you hold dear."_

Arwen opened her eyes, allowing the vision to become weaker as it slowly faded to nothing. She held the brooch in her hand, the green gem winking up at her from within the eagle's outspread wings.

It hadn't been a harmful vision, she was sure of that much, lending truth to Morion's statement. Perhaps Arwen had been the foolish one all along, perhaps these visions were meant to guide her.

There was a great deal of movement outside her room as the arrival of the Dúnedain was announced.

_And one day you too shall give it one you hold dear._

She only hoped that day would come.

* * *

**Bwitched83uk**: Oh, the Erestor/Glorfindel scene will be in chapter four. ::singing:: They'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain… With soap-on-a rope. I found Pope-on-a-Rope in California. (Which has nothing to do with anything, but oh well.) Now I see how it is Sadie: My story is only good in comparison to the crap you've been reading. "See Aragorn. See Aragorn run. Aragorn runs fast. Run Aragorn run."****

**Cerridwen-Evereven**: Everyone is capable of flaming. Go ahead, give it a try. And the crow shall keep it's silent vigil, creepy little bugger that it is.

**The Last Evenstar**: I at least attempted fluidity if that's what you mean. Unfortunately, after working on it for about five hours, I began to forget what tense I was writing in. Now that's a tricky problem to solve. And Jenny dear, once again, you're being far too hard on yourself. That custard/world imploded ending was a brilliant twist. The chapter shall come in haste though, or rather, it has come in haste.

**ME132**: Well roared Kayleigh, much better than that stupid lion anyway. Maybe just a little bit of fluff, but only a little. This isn't supposed to be a happy story you know. That's the point. How can I build mistrust and confusion if everybody is hugging and unicorns are running back and forth across Rivendell? Awww, then it would be a cornucopia of love… and we don't want that at all, do we Precious?

**Tusk**: I sure as hell am going to try. The longest prose I've ever written is two chapters, but hopefully I'll be able to stretch this one out a little longer than that.

**Valia-Elf**: Well I certainly can't tell you if he dies, now can I. However… Would you be upset if I had castration intended? Well maybe not a swell head, but at least slightly bloated. My physician is looking into it.

**Viviana**: You know, just because you asked so nicely, of course I'll continue.


	4. Golden Dreams

Title: The Voice of Deceit (Chapter 4/?)

Author: The Converted

Rating: R

Genre: Suspense/Tragedy

Summary: Arwen receives visions that she believes foretell Aragorn's death. But as she begins to unravel the mystery, things aren't what they seem. Who is sending these visions, but more importantly, can they be trusted?

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.

A/N: I tweaked chapter two a tiny bit to smooth out some OOC-ness from Glorfindel and fix some tense problems I was experiencing. Nothing major.

And this _has_ been written since Monday, but with the upgrades… FEH!

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**The Voice of Deceit**  
Chapter Four: Golden Dreams

She ran, just as she had a hundred times before; down the hall to the outer stairwell, continuing on, traversing the never ending hallways turn by turn. The goal as usual, to get to him. To Aragorn.

Arwen reeled her hands away from banister as a pulsing light invaded her senses. Stepping back slightly, she pulled her arms up into her sleeves. How desperately she wanted to exercise caution. How desperately she wanted to understand what was going on. Was this unexplainable curse some hidden power she had suddenly been able to tap into, or was she part of something bigger?

As hard as she tried, Arwen could come up with no explanation for this sudden surge in mental prowess. Perhaps there was no explanation at all. Maybe the time would come when she'd have to learn to live with it, and turn her curse into a gift. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she was just set on trying to control it.

After all, it had become quite bothersome to be assaulted with a searing vision every time her skin came into contact with something as simple as a dinner fork. Not to mention painful.

Each vision she had experienced left her feeling drained and empty, as if a piece of her soul had been ripped out, leaving a gaping wound behind to fester in its place.

She continued onward, cursing the position she had long since chosen for her room, wishing she was no longer sequestered in the farthest most reaches of the house.

At the sound of voices, she slowed, straightening her gown and tucking any errant strands of hair behind her ears. Soft footsteps sounded behind her and she felt Morion slide her plump little arm through her own. Arwen found her so much like her mother when she did things like that. It was almost endearing.

Celebrían was larger than life, a Goddess who made you feel clumsy and awkward around her, like a colt who couldn't quite grasp the concept of walking. Morion was more like a naughty child who did as she pleased, and hell be damned if you got in her way.

But for all their differences, they still held that spark of life within them, that essence that allowed them to feel so free. Arwen felt like a crow around them, a scavenger trying to live off their happiness. They were the eagles, soaring through the sky, while she was stuck behind, taking what others had forsaken.

It only seemed fitting that she was haunted by the one thing she feared: herself. The crow.

"Steel yourself my lovely, deep breaths." Arwen obliged, albeit with difficulty. "Very good. Everything is going to work out just fine. Trust me." She patted Arwen's arm for reassurance, slowly leading them both outside as she continued talking in soothing tones. "I used to have jitters too when I was your age- well not exactly _your_ age- but the feeling was the same nonetheless."

She eyed the woman suspiciously before turning her back toward the approaching Dúnedain.

"_Oh_ _I see_. What would an old woman like me know of this love nonsense, huh? I could tell you a thing or two about love. Let me guess, you get that warm tingly feeling every time he's near? Butterflies in the stomach…"

Arwen tuned her out. She couldn't listen to Morion's well calculated distraction. She couldn't even watch helplessly as the men came within her view. All she could do was hope.

* * *

_"I don't want you to leave."_

_"You know I must. Arwen, I'm doing this for us. There is no other way."_

_He nuzzled his nose against her neck as he committed her scent to memory, the smell of lilies reaching him as Arwen moved to rest her temple alongside his cheek._

_"Don't leave me," she pleaded again, tightening her hold._

_He kissed her swollen lips as gently as passion warranted. "I will return. I promise."_

_"And then what?" Arwen smiled coyly, moving forward to place a kiss on the shell of his ear._

_"And then," he teased, "You and I will run off together and get married. Maybe raise some children-"_

_She raised her eyebrow slightly and crossed her arms, tucking her hands into the large open sleeves. "You Estel, have your head up in the clouds."_

_"And you, Undómiel, are your father's daughter."_

_"Don't you forget it."_

_"How could I? Especially when he reminds me of that very fact almost every time I speak with him. I'm surprised he hasn't had Morion sew it into my bed sheets by now."_

_She laughed and Aragorn pulled her closer._

_"Oh how I will miss that sound."_

_"You don't have to leave," she reminded him as her hand began to wander up and down his chest._

_"I will return. I promise."_

* * *

"And that's how Lord Elrond and I fell in love- "

Arwen turned to Morion, utter stupefaction written across her entire face. "_What?_"

"Just making sure you were paying attention Darling. And now that I have that which I seek, I believe it's time to calm that little heart of yours. I'm practically deaf and I can hear it beating all the way over here."

She heard the thunderous sound of hooves bearing down upon her before they slowed down to a slightly audible level. She could hear the Men dismounting and greeting the gathering of awaiting Elves. And still, she could not find the strength to look up.

"_Mae govannen._"

His voice was weary, but to Arwen it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He was there. Aragorn had returned.

She raised her eyes slowly, trying to smile, but found she could not. He was as torn up as the rest of the Dúnedain. The fabric of his clothing was ripped and his body scratched from head to toe. Several men were sporting black eyes, and a small bruise was forming on Aragorn's cheek.

The healers rushed forward to begin attending to the men as the horses were led away.

"Aragorn, what happened?"

He looked at Glorfindel and smiled. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see your face again."

Glorfindel laughed and patted him playfully on the back. "I'll consider that a compliment. But in truth Aragorn, what happened?"

"We were ambushed by Orcs."

"Even more reason to strengthen the borders." Aragorn looked at him curiously, but Glorfindel just laughed it off. "I'll explain later. _You_, have more important business to take care of my friend."

"That I do."

Aragorn straightened himself up as he walked toward Arwen, exerting all his strength so as not to crumple at her feet.

She smiled, both out of pity and joy. "You kept your promise."

"And I'm glad I did. It does my heart some good to see you again Undómiel." He picked up her trembling hand, his thumb resting just above the pulse in her wrist.

He kissed her palm and she could see them dancing underneath the mallorn trees in Lothlórien, the golden leaves kissing their feet.

She jerked back, the pain of the vision subsiding to a dull ache.

"Arwen? Is something wrong?" he asked, his hand instinctively reaching out to feel her forehead.

She reeled slightly, frightened by the contact. _Please don't do this to me Aragorn. I don't want to hurt you._ She laughed lightly, trying to ease the hurt in his eyes. "Everything is fine Aragorn. Don't be silly."

He frowned, turning to the tiny figure beside his betrothed and smiled as widely as the ache in his face would allow.

Morion grasped his hand in both of hers and bowed slightly. "Ah, my Lord Aragorn. It's good to see you back so soon… And alive," she added, looking up at Arwen, the mischievous grin she usually sported present in all its glory as she nudged her charge in the ribs with her elbow.

Any cause for explanation quickly evaporated as Elrond stepped toward them, his brow furrowed in thought, hands clasped behind his back. A slight inclination of the head was all Aragorn needed to know that his presence was requested.

Aragorn looked upon Arwen's face, trying to pinpoint the cause of her unease. "It seems that your father would like a word with me."

"Indeed," came the Lord of Imladris' stony faced reply. He turned and walked through the archway, motioning for Aragorn to follow.

"We shall continue this later." She paled as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. He pulled back quickly, mumbled some incoherent apologies, and as quickly as he had come, was gone again.

The rest of the household slowly dispersed, gossiping to each other about the strange turn the Lady of Rivendell and the Heir of Elendil seemed to have taken, heedless of the shuddering creature they had left in their careless wake.

Morion wrapped her in a loose hug, letting Arwen lose herself in the soft fabric of the black cloak, like a baby bird being protected within its mother's wings. "When he kissed you just now," she asked, lightly toucing Arwen's cheek, "What did you see?"

She closed her eyes, recalling the infinite blackness and the ache she had felt deep within her heart.

"Nothing. And that scares me more than anything."

* * *

Try to make as much sense out of these as you can. Unfortunately, they were written about two months ago and even I can't remember exactly what I'm responding to. My sincere apologies to you all.

**ArwenElfstone**: So I screwed up your update soon wishes. Hopefully this chapter has made you happy, as it's going to be the "lightest" one in the story. Well, maybe the next one will be a little more so, but not by much.

**Bwitched83uk**: Yes, if they only knew that you really wanted to make it sexual. Which I suppose gives me a dirty mind because I assumed that you were intentionally putting slight twincest into your stories. But that explanation does make me feel better.

**Cerridwen-Evereven**: I liked those too, it gives me an excuse to bring Celebrían back. Fine, you may say that now, but I'm sure you've been tempted to flame something truly terrible. And I think the crow needs a name. What say ye?

**ME132**: In case you haven't noticed Kay, Viggo isn't going to be in this. End of story, no Viggo. But… You were in my dream a while ago. Sure you were an obese forty year old with bright red hair who worked at Wal-Mart, but you were still Kayleigh nonetheless. (Well roared lion!)

**Valia-Elf**: Wow, I really suck at this whole update thing, don't I? Sorry about that, it won't happen again.

**Viviana**: No idea how to respond to your review yet again, but I'm glad that you're taking the time to actually read this.


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